Carole Mortimer - The Deserving Mistress

‘Here you are.’ He placed a mug of strong black coffee in front of her before sitting down opposite her with another mug of his own, looking perfectly at ease in the confines of her untidy kitchen. ‘I’ve added two sugars,’ he told her frowningly. ‘You look as if you need the energy.’

May didn’t normally take sugar in her coffee, but she accepted that her visitor was right as she sipped the strong, sweet brew, instantly feeling the surge as the caffeine and sugar hit her bloodstream.

‘I’ve made up my mind,’ he murmured softly.

‘Sorry?’ May glanced across at him, frowning slightly. Obviously the caffeine and sugar hadn’t done quite such a good job as she had thought—because she had no idea what he was talking about.

‘You were sleeping earlier,’ he stated firmly.

She grimaced. ‘I already told you that I was.’

He nodded. ‘Because you and the vet were up all night.’

When he put it like that…! ‘With a ewe that was having a difficult time lambing,’ she explained dryly. Not that it was any of this man’s business, but still…

Their vet, John Potter, was a man of fifty or so, had been married for twenty years, and had three teenage children; it wouldn’t do to have that sort of speculations spread around the neighbourhood. It wouldn’t do her own reputation too much good, either!

‘Mother and twins are all doing well,’ she added dryly as this man continued to look at her with raised brows. ‘Look, I’m grateful for the coffee and everything, but I really don’t think I’m in any fit condition to—’

‘Good Lord!’ the man gasped suddenly.

‘What…?’ May was arrested in the action of removing her woollen hat, long dark hair cascading down over her shoulders and back.

He blinked, frowning darkly. ‘You—I—for a moment— You reminded me of someone else.’ He gave a dismissive shake of his head, but the dark frown remained on his scowling features. ‘Who are you?’ he breathed softly.

May gave him a scathing glance. ‘Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? After all, I live here!’ she reminded him impatiently.

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ The man seemed to shake himself slightly, although his frowning gaze remained fixed on her face.

What on earth could he see there to have caused this reaction? May wondered frowningly. With her long dark hair, deep green eyes, classical features, her looks were nothing exceptional. In fact, she had two younger sisters who looked very much the same as she did! Besides, dressed in her filthy clothing, her face probably covered in mud and goodness knew what else, she was hardly a glamorous figure. And this man, with his arrogant good looks and tailored clothes, did not look as if he usually bothered to look at mud-covered women farmers!

‘Well?’ she prompted irritatedly as he simply continued to stare.

‘Well what…? Ah.’ He shifted slightly in his chair as he obviously recalled her previous question, making no effort to answer her as his gaze roamed curiously around the kitchen, but mainly concentrating on the flagstone floor.

‘What are you doing?’ May finally demanded impatiently.

That piercing grey gaze returned to her face, this man seeming to have recovered from whatever had been bothering him about the way she looked. ‘Looking for where you might have hidden the bodies, of course,’ he drawled dryly.

Was she still asleep? Had her wonderful dream, where a handsome stranger appeared from nowhere and made her delicious coffee, turned into some sort of nightmare? Was she merely dreaming that she was sitting in her own kitchen, drinking coffee with a perfect stranger?

Because she certainly seemed to have lost the plot somewhere, this man’s question making absolutely no sense to her!

Perhaps she wasn’t dreaming. Perhaps this was all real. Perhaps this man was an escapee from a lunatic asylum!

‘What bodies?’ she prompted warily.

He was smiling when her gaze returned to his face, as if perfectly able to read her last, disturbing thought. ‘Which one are you? May? March? Or January?’ he prompted curiously.

Her wariness increased at his knowledge of her own name and those of her two sisters, too. An escapee from a lunatic asylum probably wouldn’t know such things, but that didn’t mean this man wasn’t still dangerous.

‘I’m May,’ she answered brightly, forcing herself to an alertness she really didn’t feel. ‘But I’m expecting March and January back at any moment,’ she lied.

One of her sisters was still in the Caribbean with her fiancé, and the other one had just gone to London with her fiancé to meet his family. But until she knew who this man was, and what he was doing here, she certainly didn’t want him to know how completely alone she was here.

His mouth twisted into a humourless smile. ‘Somehow I don’t think so,’ he murmured softly, that silver-grey gaze intent on the paleness of her face. ‘So you’re May,’ he murmured consideringly.

‘I just said so,’ she confirmed defensively, shoulders tensed as she faced him across the table. ‘And you are…?’

‘I am.’ He nodded unhelpfully, obviously enjoying her discomfort now.

May stood up forcefully, somehow feeling a little more in control of this situation once she was higher than he was—but at the same time knowing how quickly that would change if he were to stand up, too. ‘Look, I didn’t ask you here—’

‘Ah, but you did,’ he cut in softly, his voice almost a purr now, at the same time that his eyes glowed with challenge. ‘In fact, I have it from two very reliable sources that you expressly wished to meet me face to face,’ he assured her dismissively.

‘I did?’ May repeated slowly, suddenly becoming very still, looking at him with new eyes now, that mention of ‘two very reliable sources’ setting off alarm bells inside her head.

Mid to late thirties, very self-assured, obviously wealthy now that she took a good look at his leather jacket and designer-labelled jeans. More to the point, he had obviously already known she was one of the Calendar sisters when he arrived here.

Those alarm bells began to jingle so loudly they threatened to deafen her!

She knew who this man was—

‘Jude Marshall,’ he introduced confidently even as he stood up and held out his hand, knowing by the shocked look on her face seconds ago that the introduction was unnecessary.

Under other circumstances, that look of horror on her face at exactly who he was might possibly have been amusing. Possibly… Although he doubted it. It wasn’t the usual reaction to his identity that he experienced from beautiful women. And May Calendar, despite her tired state, was an exceptionally beautiful woman.

She still stared at him, making no effort to shake the hand he held out to her. ‘But—but—you’re English!’ she burst out accusingly.

Jude’s hand dropped back to his side as he once again sat down on one of the chairs. ‘Ah, now that is a debatable point,’ he drawled, amused now by her stunned expression.

‘Either you are or you aren’t,’ May Calendar snapped dismissively, at the same time obviously making great efforts to regain her equilibrium after the shock of realising he was the man who had been trying to buy this farm for the last two months.

He shrugged. ‘My mother is American, but my father is English,’ he explained dryly. ‘I was born in America, but educated in England. I visit America a lot, socially as well as on business, but my base is in London. So what do you think?’ He quirked dark brows.

She gave him a resentful glare. ‘I doubt you would want to hear what I think!’

‘Probably not,’ he drawled ruefully.

She was taking her coat off now, revealing that the bulky garment had hidden a curvaceous slenderness, her green jumper the exact colour of her eyes, denims fitting snugly over narrow thighs and long legs.